Harry Potter and the Goblet of Power
by celticvampriss
Summary: Harry Potter wants to be average. He wants to run away from home, attend magical sporting events, dream about his crush, fight crime, become the star quarterback, babes love the quarterback, and not sign up for the magical competition that hasn't taken place in hundreds of years, but now, is suddenly a good idea again. But he's not normal so abnormal stuff happens. -HP spoof.
1. The Riddle House

**A/N: I wrote this a very long time ago. I only got to chapter three or four. Depending on reception of it, I might start to continue working on it. This is a spoof version of Harry Potter: And the Goblet of Fire. I love the books, so this is all in fun. There is some minor swearing and probably not suited for younger audiences. Please enjoy the first chapter. ^_^  
**

**Chapter One: The Riddle House**

To everyone in the small village, the house was still known as 'the Riddle House.' The occupants had not been there for several decades, but it had retained the name and no one had lived there since. The most plausible reason being that the house was just plain creepy and now a bit run down and who would really want to spend their life savings on that much of a fixer-upper? The real estate market was already a tricky game and there was always the spooky stories that came with it that was sure to scare away potential buyers even if they had no prior knowledge of the house's history.

Despite all of this, as the house is obviously important since it is in the title, the place was still kept up, albeit very poorly, by the gardener, Frank. Breaking most of the accepted rules of fantasy, he is given a name which would usually mean he is important enough to survive the story, however, that is not the case. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Back when the house was still inhabited by people and not just insects, rodents, a few birds, a few very mischievous raccoons. We will leave the raccoons out of this for the sake of the story. Bad blood there. Now, the owners of the house, the infamous Riddles, had been tragically murdered. Strangely enough, the murder was not the strange part. They were found, dead as one could be, in perfect health. No bullet holes, poison, illness, stab wounds, restricted airways, long term heart conditions, claw marks, scorch marks, internal bleeding, blood, missing organs, brain damage, or anything that would indicate they should be dead. Logic told them one thing, but the rigor mortis, lack of energy, and just the obvious absence of a heart beat told them otherwise. Even after intense investigations from the casts of CSI: New York, Law and Order: Criminal Intent, and that dude from 24, they came up with nothing.

Favors had been called in, laws had been broken, but no one could come up with an answer. So the case went into a file, never to be brought up again…UNTIL.

No. That would be insane if I made the story like that, wouldn't it? A Harry Potter novel without Harry? Even _I_ don't have that much nerve.

So the house sat in infamy. Leaving the townspeople to gossip about it, remarking that maybe Frank had been the culprit. He had always given a rather fearsome impression and they all felt they had read enough mystery novels to correctly guess that the gardener did it. In the bedroom. With the lead pipe. Had there been a butler it would have been another matter, because it is almost always the butler who kills everyone.

As the years passed the house grew older as did its caretaker. The people had mostly given up on the topic and the only attention it received was from Frank, its multi-species occupants, and the occasional teenager too proud to refuse a dare. This brings us to one night in particular. Frank was in his little shack-like home, which did not help his case in the creepy-old-man department, when he noticed a light on in the house. This was odd, since they had not paid the electric bill in over fifty years. He assumed it was a flashlight of some sort and he slammed his oven mitt down on the counter, creating no real noise at all, and then, showing a complete disregard for fire safety, left his tea on the lit burner to check the house. Those damn teenagers and their sex in old rooms. Couldn't they just take their parents' car to the edge of a cliff and fornicate there like in the old days? Yes, the old days. How he missed them and the feeling of the shifter digging into your back. Rotten youth. He grumbled in his head.

Having a flashlight of his own, he began to look for the reckless renegades. He started up the stairs, since the light had come from an upstairs window, and then stopped in his tracks. It wasn't children's voices that he heard. Feeling adventurous, he continued up the stairs, slowly. The voices grew louder and were now more clear.

"I'm s…sorry my lord…" Came a whiny high pitched voice. It reminded Frank of a mouse, but he wasn't sure why.

"Don't lie, Wormtail. And I can see that you are. You are repulsed by me, I know. You stay out of fear, because you know that I could kill you whenever I wanted. It would be only too easy…" The snake-like voice paused, "Unless, of course you move out of my field of vision. I can't exactly _move_ to pursue you, but rest assured…I would find you eventually." He finished his threat darkly.

"I am not here out of fear, my lord. I love you." The first man, Wormtail, whimpered.

'Lord? Wormtail? Weren't these voices a little old to be LARPing?' Frank thought.

"Love, Wormtail? That's laying it on a bit thick isn't it?" Said yet another voice. This one, however, did not have any distinguishable sound to it, and actually painted the mental picture of a well dressed man in a business suit or even a well-bred alien that likes to cleverly meddle in the lives of humans.

"Enough!" Ordered Snake Voice. "Is everything ready?"  
"Yes, my lord." Replied Normal Voice. "He will be ours very soon."

"Good. Good." Whispered Snake Voice.

"My lord, would it not be easier on you to get another boy? Someone easier to obtain?" Wormtail asked.

There was silence. "If I could grab your collar and throw you into the wall…NO! There is no other option. I want _him_ and that is final! I don't care if it's too _hard_. Deal with it. I'm a fucking pile of…would you even call this skin? And you except me to sympathize with you having to catch one little boy? Oh, boo hoo. Cry me a river and then drown yourself in it. Why do I always get stuck with such useless help? Really, am I that bad to work for? I offer great benefits and health and life insurance are a given. I pay well. Why do I still end up stuck with people like you?" Snake Voice ranted.

"I'm sorry, master. I didn't mean to upset you. You offer great benefits and you pay very well…I didn't mean it. Forgive me."

"Just get up, you kiss ass. And go and wipe your nose, you've got brown stuff all over it." Snake Voice ordered.

Frank listened to all this in confusion. The only thing his mind was able to clearly process was that some little boy was about to be kidnapped by some strange circus freaks. No doubt to be part of some evil experiment and then beaten, raped, and left for dead. It made Frank's deflated sense of justice spring into action. He would not let this boy suffer this fate! And he made to turn around, but stopped by yet another surprise. Really, you never know what sort of stuff you'll find in old houses.

A large snake slithered up the steps and past his feet, stopping to look at him and then passing him by like he was unworthy of eating. Not that Frank minded the snake's pompous attitude, but he was still a bit hurt by it. 'Racist.' He thought.

"Ah, my beautiful pet." Snake Voice said as the actual snake slithered up his chair and seemed to converse with him. A series of hissing followed and then Snake Voice chuckled. "It seems we have a visitor. The muggle gardener is listening outside the door."

"Does anyone respect privacy anymore?" Normal Voice huffed as he went to open the door the rest of the way.

"Bring him in." Ordered Snake Voice.

Light showered over Frank as he stood still. They can't see me if I don't move, he thought quickly. They can't see-

"I can't see him…he must be standing completely still…" Normal Voice said reaching out a hand and grabbing air.

That worked? Frank thought shocked, but unfortunately that also caused him to move his head and he was instantly spotted.

"Aha! You're a sneaky one, aren't you?" Normal Voice said grabbing Frank's arm roughly.

Frank shook his head violently, too scared to talk.

"Wormtail! Manners. I tell you all the time I can't move myself and you have to do it for me. God, why are you such an idiot." Wormtail froze and Frank could see his brain trying to figure out what he needed to do. "The chair, idiot. I need you to turn the chair so I can give our guest a polite greeting." Snake Voice was very annoyed.

"Y..yes, my lord." As Wormtail turned the chair he added more quietly, "By 'polite greeting' do you mean 'kill?'"

"Well, that is what I _had_ been planning before you started running your mouth." Snake Voice scolded. "Look, go sit in the corner and count the holes in the wall."

"But, my lord…there are so many…I can't possibly count that high."

"I want an exact number in twenty minutes." Snake Voice continued.

"No! Please, I won't say anything else. I swear!" Wormtail pleaded, which is something he seemed to do quite often.

"One. Two…"

"Alright. Alright." Wormtail moved to the corner and his timid counting could be heard faintly in the background.

"Now. About our guest. _Avada Kadavra_." Snake Voice shouted, wasting no time. A green light was the last thing Frank saw, before the white light, which he walked into despite all the protests he had heard in the movies against it.


	2. The Scar

**Chapter Two: The Scar**

A dark haired boy named Harry awoke with a start. He was breathing heavily and he was covered in sweat as if he had just tried to run through a Sears at five A.M on black Friday. He lay there, trying to remember the dream he had just been having. It felt important…I mean, it had to be if it was connected to him, so he knew he needed to try and remember. There had been an old guy. Francis? Fredrick? Fran? Whatever his name was he had been killed. Of that, Harry was certain.

There were other people in his dream too and a snake. He tried to place all the pieces together when the unusual scar on his forehead began hurting. That could only mean one thing, he thought despite the pain. After all, he was no stranger to pain. They were actually pretty close. Pain was the only friend he could depend on, as he was always in some state of discomfort. That was the life of a boy like him, though. There was no stopping it. Nothing he could do but ride the empathy and pity train through life.

His scar hurting concerned him. It only did that when a certain dark wizard was around. One whose very name kindled fear in the hearts of witches and wizards alike….even lawyers trembled or wet themselves whenever those three syllables reached their ears. Voldemort. To Harry, though, it wasn't so scary. He had never even heard of the wizard until he was eleven, so he did not tremble upon hearing the name. He was Harry Freaking Potter and he laughed at danger. Laughed and called it names and took out all his frustrations about life on danger. It was actually very cruel.

Harry put his magazine, _Witches Gone Wild_ on the floor, resting on his copy_ of Houseelves Gone Wild_, a title recommended by Hermione who claimed it was racist not to have it, but that didn't really appeal to his particular taste. _The Chudley's Cannons_, recommended by Ron had been much more interesting. He sat up and stretched, listening for any sounds that might be coming from the rest of the house.

Thankfully, his aunt, uncle, and cousin were still sleeping. Which was how he liked them best. Seeing as Harry had no parents of his own, he had had to borrow his cousin's and that didn't sit well with the spoiled brat. Dudley did not like to share, and as a result, the entire Dursley family had been less than kind to Harry over the years. All this is a mild understatement compared to the way he was actually treated which would have probably sent any _normal_ boy to therapy or a detention center long ago.

They were all rather large, except for his aunt who was not, and held the stern view that anything abnormal was repulsive and wrong. This didn't help their opinion of Harry, who was as abnormal as they came, even for a wizard. For starters, he had glasses and poor eyesight was rare in the wizarding world. There was also his general disregard for authority that always seemed to help him 'save the day' and earn minimal punishment. He also had appalling taste in music and had bad hair. A complete weirdo by even the most far-fetched of standards.

Now, back to his dream and scar, which are very important because they both belong to Harry Potter the boy who gets all the attention but casually plays it off as a nuisance. They were both, scar and dream, important and integral to the plot of this story, and therefore both too boring to relate here. So I will leave you with the knowledge that they were both very crucial to everything and that it is a real shame you can't find out just how crucial. I would laugh at your lack of knowledge, but I am not that cruel and anyway, if you're reading this you've read the book so you probably already know.

Anyway, there is then a bit of stuff that happens and Harry mopes around his room wishing that he could see his only friends, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. Neither were as important and misunderstood as him, but he had lowered his standards for them anyway. Because they were pretty cool people deep down and they made him look better by comparison.

Sitting at his desk, he reflected on the importance of his scar and dream and decided to write about it to his godfather. A mass-murderer on the run from the law named Sirius Black. After the star and color, I assume.

The letter explained that Harry's scar hurt and that it probably meant Voldemort had come to his home specifically to kill him and something should possibly be done The wizarding world as a whole was probably in grave danger and Harry was the only one who knew about anything bad happening. (Harry liked to play things down so he didn't seem pompous and over-confident. It made him a more likeable hero.) He also asked how Sirius was doing and if anyone had found him and brought him to justice yet. The typical friendly curiosities. Then he closed the letter and moved to his owl cage for the most inefficient and impractical way to send a letter, magical world or not. Hedwig, his snowy owl pet/messenger bitch hooted playfully as Harry tied the note to her foot. No one had bothered to do any research before choosing owls as messengers, because then they would realize the birds are quite dense and very difficult to train even for simple tasks. They also did not do so well with long distance flight, and yet they were still thrown out windows with the expectation that they deliver messages all around the world in a reasonable period of time.

Once she was gone, Harry sat back on his bed and looked at his floor. After picking up _The Chudley's Cannons_ he laid back and 'enjoyed' the quiet morning before his aunt and uncle would awake.


	3. The Invitation

**Chapter Three: The Invitation**

Harry went downstairs for breakfast. The Dursleys were all ready at the table, but there were a few notable differences. For one, Dudley was in a sour mood. Oh wait…no, that was actually a very normal occurrence.

Now, for Dudley, this could have been brought on by any number of superficial things. On that particular day, it was because of the meager breakfast he was being served. His parents, who had always rationalized his behavior like any loving adult would, finally realized that if they kept feeding him the way they had been he was going to die. Probably of a heart attack. Probably not much longer than a year from now. His heart just would not be able to sustain his girth if he kept eating without restraint. At the rate he was going he could have easily ended up in one of those Insider Editions where people have to be crane lifted from their beds because they are literally too fat to exist.

And so, Dudley was served a piece of grapefruit for breakfast and he wasn't happy. Which, I don't blame in on that one. Grapefruits are disgusting. But what really sucked about this special diet was that everyone had to be on the diet. Which meant that everyone in the house had to eat as if they weighed as much as a car. And Harry weighed about half as much as a toothpick so he was probably going to die of malnutrition if he stuck to such a strict diet. He would have said something about possibly dying, but he didn't want to get his Aunt and Uncle's hopes up. Besides, he had wisely stashed some real food upstairs in his room.

They had nearly finished their grapefruit when there was a knock at the door. Uncle Vernon went to answer it and sounded angry when he called Harry into the living room.

"So." He said crisply. Then he paced around a bit. He mumbled under his breath incoherently and then turned back to a very confused Harry. "So." He repeated. Then he held up a piece of paper triumphantly, as if he had caught Harry in a great lie or in the act of burying a body. "What do you have to say about this?"

"A Victoria's Secret Catalog?" Harry tilted his head. "The label says 'To: Vernon Dursley—"

His Uncle threw the magazine over his shoulder with an awkward cough. "No. Of course not. What do you have to say about this?" He held up the correct piece of paper. It was a note from the Weasley family asking if Harry could attend the Quidditch World Cup with them. Which, I mean, hell yes he wanted to go. I wanted to go. Which is why I was so disappointed when the movie showed the match for all of two seconds. Thank you Warner Bros. You could cram fifty hours of awkward HarryxGinny into Half-Blood Prince, but you couldn't squeeze in ten minutes of the Quidditch World Fucking Cup?

Back to the letter. If it wasn't strange enough they had used parchment, they had to use strange words like 'Quidditch' and 'World' and heaven forbid, 'Cup.' Probably didn't help that it was completely covered in stamps too. But really, how hard was it to go to a post office when mailing the letter and _ask_ how many stamps? I feel like if I were a wizard I'd be so much better at not sucking eggs when trying to do muggle stuff. Just saying. I don't get it.

"Look here boy," Oh, sorry, Uncle Vernon's talking again. "Once again you've found a way to make us all look bad. What do you think the postman thought when he saw this _funny_ looking envelope?"

"Well, I'm sure he didn't sit there and think 'It's like this letter was sent by a wizard, all covered in stamps like they don't understand our simple human ways.'" Harry argued. Which was a fair point. "He probably just thought we have an eccentric aunt."

"That we have an…listen here, you know we don't like any of your…abnormalness brought to the attention of our neighbors." Uncle Vernon scolded, starting to get really angry.

"Yes and I'm very sorry." Harry answered, trying not to roll is eyes at the idiocy of the situation. How did that kid remain sane? "But can I go?"

His uncle paused. He was now faced with a real dilemma. Making Harry miserable by telling him no and getting rid of him by telling him yes. On the one hand, making Harry, a fifteen year old boy, miserable just for the fun of it was sort of the thing a sociopath might do. On the other hand, Uncle Vernon was probably a sociopath so making Harry miserable was looking like a good option. However, the next chapter is called 'Back to the Burrow' so I'm guessing he gave in and said that Harry could go.

Then other stuff happens and Harry goes to his room. He writes some letters that don't really say anything interesting. Basically, Ron's excited that he's coming. There's a new owl character who's super hyper and probably suffering from a severe mental deficiency. And Percy's a douchebag. But no one really needed to hear that last one, because at this point in the story I don't think anyone thinks otherwise.

It seems to be a trend in these earlier chapters for there to be lots of letter writing and not really so much going on. I really feel they could have been condensed into one and then the book wouldn't have had to be as thick. Then I would have been able to carry it under my arm with all my school books without having to catch them every time they shifted. Have you ever had to walk through a crowded high school with a thick stack of books under your arm that keeps sliding all over? As if high school wasn't hard enough. But to my original point, the book is much too long.


End file.
